The reason I have not written for 10 months is precisely because they have the heart to do so. That means exactly which means, that 10 months ago I lost my heart. And of course, heartless how can we talk about poetry? You can not. Can not even for the sheer love of words or images. A broken heart is still a heart and can therefore bitterly mourn the loss and nostalgia and rejoice in the sad poetry. A happy heart, love, moody, unhappy, loving, hopeful, nostalgic, in short, any heart can rejoice with poetry (from the sublime to the saddest line of a bad poet.) 
In any case, apparently returned my heart ... torn apart, tormented, anorexic, but returned. And after months and months of curing, take care and relive it, you can say that has returned like a survivor. Has brought a treasure: the discovery that far or near, loved ones can cross and join the underworld forever. The love, the love, I still love, in silence, in the distance, in the impossible, in his madness that isolated forever from my world, in their freedom, in short, wherever they are far beyond the still love. And maybe love them more now in the memory and the return of my heart, that before, never, always.
"I carry your heart with me"
by: E.E. Cummings.
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in / my heart) I am never without it (anywhere / I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done / by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear / no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want / no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) / and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant / and whatever a sun will always sing is you. / Here is the deepest secret nobody knows / (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud / and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows / higher than the soul can hope or mind dog hide) / and this is the wonder that's Keeping the stars apart. / I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).
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